Bulletproof Diary
by Youko-Kokuryuuha
Summary: I’ve lived here my whole life, with the green goop bubbling and gurgling in the streets and the smell of blood and soot clouding the air. Lived here, killed here. Died a little on the inside too. Guess that’s how it is when you’re a mako-dealing Turk. AU.
1. Entry I: Ride In

Disclaimer: Much as I'd love to, I don't own a single bit of the FFVII franchise.

Warnings: Offensive language, graphic violence, drug allusions, homicide—it's M people. I think the only thing I've left out was sex. (And I hear a wave of disappointment...)

A/N: So. This is my gangsterific Reno-centric AU, based largely on a short story written for my English class, and it borrows heavily from concepts, themes, and titles present on the critically acclaimed rap album _Tha Carter II_.

Also, many fervid and passionate thank-yous to my amazing betas, Moiranne Rose and , and also to Pen Against Sword for her valuable tips and advice. Those three are freaking amazing writers. Seriously. If you haven't read their work, you're missing out.

But enough of my yammerin'. On to the fic.

* * *

Preface.

* * *

Here's how the story starts:

Once upon a time in a slimy metal prison called Midgar, there was a group of heartless bastards called the Turks. They sold illegal substances under the counter, cut throats, and tried to claw a living out of the concrete.

Once upon a time, they got fucked over.

One little Turk decided he wasn't gonna let things end the way they did, so he spit the blood out of his mouth, grit his teeth, and started a war. Because he was the scummiest of the scummiest and the fucking best of the best.

One little Turk decided he'd give Shinra its due.

The Shinra Electric Power Company: the corporate monster that ran the facilities, the money, the cities, the countries—the world. The well-oiled money-making machine with one hell of a strategy: _Burn your enemies to the ground and then pump out their mako_.

Mako. The thick, green fluid that made the world go round.

One Turk against the world.

Heh…what the hell was I thinking?

* * *

Bulletproof Diary

* * *

Entry I.

Ride In.

* * *

I slammed down on the alarm clock as it went off; it'd been screeching and shrieking like some animal crying out in pain. Damn thing. I hated the noise, hated what it meant: _welcome to a brand new, completely fucked day_.

I sighed and let my lids droop back down, easing the burning in my eyes for a moment. I didn't _want_ to get up, but I knew soon enough I sure as hell had to. Still, that didn't mean I couldn't put it off for a while; I was lazy and selfish enough to do it. The bed springs creaked under me as I turned over to stare across the pillows.

Damn. She was hot.

And that was about the best I could say.

I reached out and brushed a finger across her cheek, and her eyelids fluttered before they closed again.

Heh. She slept like she was Petrified.

In some ways, we were natural—perfect—for each other: the kleptomaniac and the crook; the thief and the murderer. "Dry out Shinra's fat pockets" seemed to be the motto that kept us together. We were both a little half-crazed, maybe, but we were damn well proud of it, too.

She'd talk about Wutai, sometimes; about its green, green fields and red, peeling paint pagodas; about the swish of silky robes and the clang of ninja steel on steel. And when she did, her eyes would light up as if she were seeing all of Gaia at once, breathtaking and beautiful.

It made me wonder what the hell she was doing here, at the very bottom of the world, with a blood- and grit-riddled crook like me.

I remember the day she'd dragged herself into town, covered in soot and more than just a few battle scars as she limped deeper into the heart of Sector Five. I found her half-unconscious at the back of an alley with five bodies knocked out cold littering the ground around her, and the smell of something sharp and metallic in the air.

On her near deathbed, she'd told me, "Touch me and I'll fucking kill you."

I'd said something clever and funny like, "Only if you don't get beat to death by a Turk first."

And she'd stuck around ever since.

I looked over at her again, at the long lashes, the tan skin, the silky black hair, and the round cheeks that were slightly red and curved with her sleepy smile.

I tried to keep that image in my mind as I shrugged the covers off and let my feet touch the cold floor. I didn't want to lose the picture of her smile, frozen and beautiful in sleep**. **Because, chances were, I'd be dead before dawn. Savor the moments and cherish the memories, someone once said (or at least if no one had said it before, they damn well should've). Savor them, before you're dead and rotting in an alley somewhere, with a bullet through your brain.

That sorta sentiment.

But that word. Turk. It did something to people who didn't understand. Plastered fear on their faces like bugs on the windshield of a really fast train. I didn't get that.

People said we were a street gang, just a violent, belligerent street gang that crowded the slums and made an already dangerous place even more dangerous. People had perceptions of what "Turk" meant, but it was really all the same:

Murder and misery and grief. Something along those lines.

Those were the idiots, because they didn't understand it was a lot more than that. It wasn't something we loved to do. We didn't like taking lives—most of the time—but it was necessary to keep what mattered intact.

I spared an involuntary glance back at the bed.

Yeah, I wouldn't have changed things. Why would I, when Shinra ran the world and kept us under Midgar like filthy rats in the sewers? When power-hungry, money-grubbing bastards were sitting their fat asses on toilet seats of gold and raking in all the benefits? Everyone was pretty much powerless under the damn company's thumb, roaches that scattered under the bright light. It was disgusting. I'd rather kill for survival than live like that.

Did that make me wrong, though? Did that make me a monster?

Probably. But at least I had better intentions.

I was at the bathroom before another thought had crossed my mind. I pulled open the white door a bit and slipped into the room. It was murky in the morning darkness, so I fumbled around until I found the light switch on the wall and flicked it on.

I peeled off the black sweats and grey tank that seemed to cling to my damn skin like the heavy sins of yesterday, a thick second skin, and then I slipped into the shower, turning the faucet as I went. The hot, steamy water washed out some of the grogginess, washed out the silly doubts that always nagged at me when they didn't make a damned bit of sense.

My fingers found the white towel on the curtain rod as I stepped out, and I pulled it down and buried my face in it, letting it soak up all the drops of water that were oozing slowly out of my damp hair.

I shook the rest of the wet out and ruffled my hair on the towel. When I looked at the rack on the wall, what I needed was already there: a pair of black pants, a wrinkled white dress shirt, a really uncomfortable jacket, and a lame black tie. They looked pretty tame, pretty standard fare— and somehow always managed to scream _run the fuck away_.

I stretched out and shrugged into the clothes, leaving the tie hanging on the rack. The getup looked more badass without it.

It was weird, though. You'd think a dress suit would mean being civil and polite and all that crap, but on a Turk it always seemed to mean something a whole lot more sinister. Detached. Professional. Cold. And the all black scheme...it was like we were always mourning for someone. Technically, I guess we were. I couldn't count all the faces with my hands...

I glanced up from the sink and stared into the spotted, cracked mirror. My eyes were bright, alive; my hair was shaggy, and a bit unkempt in its ponytail; the suit looked good on me, dangerous even. I was a funny sight, the right mix of deadly and careless. I looked like I could've belonged to a mob or something.

I grinned at my reflection.

Nah, I wouldn't've changed a damn thing.

I crossed to the bed one more time and sat on the edge, careful not to wake her; the warm light of a street lamp was filtering in through the window blinds and flickering over the creamy pillows, casting patches of buttery yellow light on her cheeks.

Staring at her face while she slept...well, it made me realize something: not a single greasy bastard could tell me that what I was doing wasn't right. And if it _was_ wrong, if I was going to burn in hell for this…

Well, shit. Had to make a living somehow.

The sheets slid and ruffled as she stirred in her sleep and turned over to look at me.

"Hey there, sexy beast." She paused to stifle a yawn. "What's up?"

"The usual." I shrugged as she rubbed a hand in her grey eyes, trying to clear the fog of sleep from them.

"Now?" she whined.

I chuckled. "Yeah, now. Quit being such a baby, alright? It's annoying."

She waved her hand dismissively. "I get it, I get it—you're an asshole-y grouch in the morning. Get out before I shave you bald."

I ruffled her black hair and stood to go after she squawked loudly. "The hell you would. You wouldn't get close enough to try."

"We are _so_ not having a discussion about how hard I can kick your ass when my breath smells like a musky chocobo that's gone a week without a good scrubbing. Later, maybe."

It was hard to miss the hopeful tone in her voice. Made me wonder again why she put herself through this, through the fear and worrying.

I walked away, and couldn't help but notice how loud my shoes sounded in the darkness. Echoing. Kinda cool, too.

"Hey, Reno?"

My hand was already on the cool brass knob of the bedroom door when I looked back over my shoulder to see her. Yeah, still that worried expression. She was chewing the inside of her cheek, too.

"You know I love you, right?"

I smiled in spite of myself. "'Course," I quipped. "Who could resist a face like this?"

"Come back, jerk wad."

"Yeah, yeah. Like I need you to tell me that, Yuffie."

I didn't look back at the mound of wrinkled covers—couldn't bear to see the worry and panic on her face again—so I turned the knob and walked out, letting the door snap shut behind me.

Everything seemed so lifeless in the dark shadows of our apartment, hard and bitter. Like the world was reminding me to shake off the lovey-dovey mush and come back down to reality, where money and murder was waiting for me. Reminding me that Shinra was out there, watching every corner, every shadow—my every breath.

That sobered me up pretty quickly.

I was out the front door before another thought came to mind.

I heard the sirens first. Typical at—I spared a glance down at the battered gold watch on my wrist, a birthday present that Yuffie'd probably picked off some hapless idiot on the street, and checked the time—four in the morning.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and crept down the craggy, granite steps. The alleyway made up of chipped, grey bricks was small and cramped, and the dirt road was littered with dips and potholes. The sky—a funny inside joke I'd taken up—was black and still as night. And really, what did I expect to see from the slums? A dazzlingly warm sunset? Poofy clouds? Purple skies? The Plate put an end to any silly dream like that.

Rude was around the block. I could see the car as I paced slowly towards it, its black paint gleaming under the flickering lamp posts. I wasn't really all that fond of the thing. If it was up to me, I would've picked something better and sportier—something red. But whatever; it was Tseng's call.

The passenger door opened as I approached, and I slid into the leather seat easily. Baldy had both his hands gripped on the steering wheel, shades staring into the windshield like he could make out a really authentic toupee that'd work for him. I snickered.

"Heya there, Rude. I'm flattered that you picked me up. Where the hell are my roses?" He quirked an eyebrow at my toothy grin. "What, no flowers?" I scowled. "Worst damn date of my life. I want _out_."

I heard him chuckle as he reached for the glove box and rummaged through it for a manila envelope before he flicked it onto my lap. The engine started.

"This the hit?" I asked. Rude nodded once as he concentrated on the road, and left me to sliding open the envelope and memorizing the picture of the guy—well, kid, really. He was about seventeen, sandy-hair and wide, warm brown eyes. Looked like someone'd just scared the shit out of him, too.

"Doesn't look shady enough," I muttered. Which was true. We normally got huge, hulking guys with bulging eyes and yellowing teeth. Those were the kinda people we dealt with, thugs and bums—not _this_. "He's just a kid. You sure?"

Rude gave me a long look from behind his shades as he turned a corner.

"Yeah, you're right. Tseng's too prim and uptight to make mistakes."

He grimaced, probably not too amused by my take on his message. But hey, I was eloquent. What more could I say?

We rode in silence for a while. I leaned my head against the cool window and looked out the slightly fogged glass, past a refection staring back at me. The dim yellow lights, buzzing and luminescent in the dark; the shoddy huts and hovels, pathetic excuses for homes; and the filthy, grimy street corners all blurred into one continuous, dull grey image.

This was Midgar; this was the Sector Five Slums. There was no way up, because you were born without a ladder; no way down, because you'd already hit rock bottom. So you stayed there, rotting and wasting away in the murky alleys and dark streets, waiting and praying for a miracle that wouldn't happen in a world where Shinra was God.

That's why people should've understood that what we did was necessary. That if you wanted a shot, if you even had a hope in hell to get out, your only option was to be something dangerous, something that broke the law and then stepped all over its broken fingers, something that was willing and desperate enough to do anything that'd give you a way out—they'd understand that your only option was to be a Turk.

The car slowed down and lurched to a stop.

Rude pushed his door open and walked around to the back. He flitted past the rear-view mirror, popped open the trunk, and then shut it again. When he walked back past the driver's door, he jerked his head, and I opened my door to follow.

Yeah, the stale air here sucked, too. It was dead and lifeless, full of rotting stenches and odors—you'd think someone'd just dropped a load around the corner and left it there.

I caught up with Rude as he made his way around to the front and sat on the car's hood, the black duffle-bag in his hands jangling and clinking merrily as he jostled it about. The headlights were still on, lighting up the street in front of us for a few good feet. I sat next to him and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Any idea how long he'll take?" I asked. Rude shrugged. "Well, _that_ sucks," I muttered. "I could totally be back in my warm bed, doing very exhausting and strenuous exercises with Yuffie right now." I waggled my eyebrows a bit, and a light blush crept over Rude's face. I punched him in the arm.

"Loosen up, Baldy! Can't I crack a joke without you fightin' down a laugh? Alright, here. Why did the chocobo run across the pasture?"

Rude cocked an eyebrow behind the shades.

"Because a hungry Chocobo Eater was chasing it and wanted dinner!"

A set of chuckles hung on the air for a minute, before I realized that Rude wasn't laughing with me and cut it short. I narrowed my eyes and scowled. "Rude, seriously, you're killing my morning buzz. What does it take to make your uptight ass—?"

He lifted an arm and pointed a gloved finger into one of the darker corners just outside the headlights' range; I followed his lead.

Yeah, I saw him. That gangly kid with the wide scared eyes and the sandy hair, face covered in grime and dirt and soot. A wooly striped beige sweater with long sleeves hung loosely on his skinny frame, and his cut-up pair of black jeans looked like it'd seen better days.

His face was peeking around the wall of a curb, and when he saw us staring at him, he jumped a little and scuttled out into view. That only made it worse. He was trembling all over, kinda like a mini-seizure, except he clearly _wasn't_ foaming at the mouth. He was scared out of his mind, though, I could tell. His hand was gripped around something metal and gun-shaped in his pocket.

Nice. The twitchy-nervous type. It was gonna be a thin line to tread.

I looked up at Rude and he nodded, so I took a careful step forward—the kid was jumpy, after all.

"Hey there." I tried to make my voice soothing when I extended my arm out as a greeting. He just kinda stared at it numbly. I let my arm swing back down to my side. "You"—I checked the crumpled photo in my pocket—"Benjamin Witlock, right?"

The kid nodded. "M-my f-friends call me B-B-Benjy," he whispered. Like he was scared. Horrified. The kid really didn't know what he'd gotten himself into.

"Cool, Benjy," I ventured. "See, me and my partner"—I cocked my head over towards Rude—"we'll be handlin' the transaction today for the Turks." He jumped at the word. "You got—?"

"A-all t-thirty vials!" His voice cracked on the last word.

I looked back over at Rude, who was clearly seeing the same thing I was: a scared kid, shaking and trembling in our headlights, minus the thirty vials that he was supposed to have.

"The vials...?"

"Around t-the c-corner. I w-wasn't sure if y-you were T-T-Turks." He was gonna give himself a brain aneurism at that rate.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and edged around him; his brown eyes followed me.

"Yeah, cool," I said. "I'm just gonna check the merchandise, count the wares. Standard procedure."

His hand clenched and unclenched in his pocket as he rose the other to wipe the cold sweat off his lips.

"N-no!" I stopped pacing, standing long enough to throw him a quizzical stare. "I m-mean..." Benjy paused for a deep breath. "Boss s-said don't let you s-see the v-vials till I see the g-gil."

"And your boss is smart," I offered. "People tend to rob and steal and backstab 'round here. But the gil is right in front of you"—Rude held up the bag—"and I'm sure you can understand that we have every right to check your end of the deal. So..."

Benjy shook his head. "I c-can't. Give me the g-g-gil first."

I was getting annoyed. All the damn kid had to do was let me _see_ the vials, let me make sure we weren't being crossed, and we'd all be on our merry way. But _no_, we had to broker with a twitchy little amateur who didn't understand the basics—you sniff my butt, I sniff yours. Then we exchange. Simple as hell.

"Kid, look." I took a step towards him—

"Don't _move!_"

—and he fired a shot into the air.

Benjy brought the gun down, chest heaving, and fixed it on me, his fingers shaking on the trigger.

Kid was really, _really_ starting to get annoying.

"Just g-give me the gil and t-then you c-can see the vials!" he stammered.

I sighed in annoyance.

"You don't get it, kid," I drawled. My voice came out sounding a helluva lot like a growl. "You check to see if we're legit—and the money's obviously right over fucking there. Then we check if you're legit—as in, _we see the fucking vials._"

The kid just shook his head again. From the corner of my eye, I saw Rude take a small step forward. Benjy saw it too; he spun around like a top.

"Don't try anything f-funny, big guy."

Rude didn't move. He just stared back calmly at the kid, heavy shades and all, and I could see that it was making Benjy even more anxious than he already was. Probably thought Rude looked kinda menacing, and I guess he did. Wearing a Turk suit and being as tall as he was did that.

Benjy swallowed and his finger tightened a little on the trigger.

"Take a s-step b-back! Now!" he yelled. In my head, I played back the sound of his weak, shaking voice giving demands. It sounded funny.

Rude didn't back away, but he did drop the bag of gil; the sound of the jingling coins and ruffling bills made Benjy twitch. His finger shook on the trigger, and he banged out another shot—and it whizzed right by Rude's bald shiny head.

It wasn't that I wanted to, because I didn't, really, not that early in the morning. But we'd tried calming him down, tried talking to him. I had to—didn't really have a choice. My hand was already in my pocket, wrapped around my electro-mag rod. He wouldn't see me coming, not if I was fast enough...and he'd be too concentrated on Rude anyway. So I did the smart, logical thing.

I bashed his head in.

It was easier than I'd thought it'd be. The rod whipped around and smashed into the side of his face; the bolts ran over him like water. There was a small cracking noise, a spurt of blood, and then Benjy crumpled to the ground in shock. He'd never seen it coming.

I looked over at Rude, and he was giving me a look that pretty much scowled, _You really didn't have to do that._ I grimaced as I crouched down and put two fingers on Benjy's neck to check his pulse; the blood was racing in his veins.

"Hey, Benjy," I said. "I need you to calm down. Yeah, that's it. Deep breaths, nice and easy." My fingers felt around his skull and hair, pushing his red-soaked and sopping wet hair out of the way. "There's a small break around your ear. It'll hurt like a bitch for a few weeks, but the pain'll go away, alright?"

I hated lying to him. The poor kid.

Rude knelt down next to me and slipped his hand under Benjy's head to prop him up. The kid started coughing, choking a little on his blood as it flew out and flecked his sweater; a few drops welled up in his eyes.

"_Dammit_," he coughed. "I'm so sorry. I was nervous, and stupid, and scared and and—and you're Turks, y-y'know?"

"Yeah, kid," I said. "I know."

"I'm gonna die now, aren't I?" The blood trickled down the corner of his mouth as he choked the words out, dizzy and scared.

"Nah, no way," I lied. My voice was smooth and cheerful.

"T-Thanks," Benjy said, and then his voice broke a little, "but I'm not stupid. I'm b-bleeding my brains out on the pavement."

Rude shifted his hand and lowered Benjy's head closer to the ground so that the bleeding would slow. It didn't work.

"The vials—they're around the corner"—Benjy let out a hacking cough—"where I was"—a twitch, an aftereffect of the rod's shock—"hiding." He choked up some more blood and wiped it off his shaking lips before he turned to Rude. "Listen, this really"—another choke, a bit more violent—"fuckin' hurts, big guy, and I never wanted to die long and"—a bubble of blood on the corner of his mouth—"drawn out in the first place. I'd prefer a quick and painless exit. Can ya help me out?"

I didn't wait for Rude's response. He was warm-hearted and kind enough that he'd do the kid a favor.

I got up, plucked Benjy's discarded handgun from the ground, and strolled over to the alley where he'd been hiding in and peeked around. They were there. A flatbed, loaded with thirty brown brick-shaped packages. I picked one up and ripped a small tear in the paper. The green glow pulsed back at me.

"Yo, Rude!" It was a few seconds before he reached me. "Yeah, we're good. I already counted, it's thirty vials." He gave me a stiff nod and then walked back over to the car to back it into the alley so that we could load the trunk. It took a few minutes, but we fit 'em all.

"C'mon. Let's get the hell out of here before someone gets too curious about those gunshots," I muttered. I walked toward the passenger's side, but then Rude grabbed my arm and jerked his head back towards the street.

"The kid, huh?" I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. "Yeah, you're right, we can't leave him there—wouldn't be right. And someone'll trip over his body and steal the gil. Stuff him in a corner somewhere in the alley, like behind the flatbed. And bring the loot. Don't want anyone claiming we stole our shipment."

Rude took care of it. By the time he was done, I was already in my seat in the car, tapping my fingers against my knee. I was a little irritated that the deal hadn't gone as smooth as it should've, but it was too late to stress on it now. So I'd killed someone—was it really all that different from normal?

Rude started the engine and we pulled away. The street fell away into the black as he drove, passing buildings and huts and all the rest; I tried to block them out.

"We moving bases today or what?" I quipped.

Rude shook his head. "No, same one."

"Ho_ho_! He speaks for the first time today!" I teased. "Huh. So all it takes is your standard death courtesy of a poorly trained kid to get you to squawk—"

I saw a flash of pink through my window, standing on the edge of the road.

"Stop the car," I grunted. Rude gave me a questioning look. "Just stop the car, I'll be right back." He didn't ask any more questions as he pulled onto the side of the road, and he left the engine running as I got out.

The air was still stagnant as I stepped across the street, walking briskly. I couldn't believe this shit. They didn't belong out here. It was different for Rude and me, we were older. But Benjy and now her... What were these kids _doing_ on the streets?

I stopped short when I reached the other side. I'd been right: another kid working the streets when she probably didn't have a damn clue how dangerous it was. There were people who'd hurt her—people like me.

She was about the same age as Benjy, with big green eyes and long tresses of brown hair. Nearly my height, too. I thought all the pink was a little deceiving, though; it implied a sense of innocence, something she obviously didn't have. Guess her customers got off on it. The thought made me shudder a little.

"Hello," she said. Cheerily. Like she still had that innocence. The false piety kinda pissed me off. "Would you like—?"

"No, I wouldn't," I snarled, and she shrank back at the force of my words. "Girlie, the hell are you doing out here? The streets are _no _place for you, and you're already playing with a risky game. Not only is being passed around like a bottle _nasty as hell_, it's dangerous. They've got psychos out here, girlie. And sick bastards who like how little girls scream, so I'm _telling_ you to get the fuck—"

"I sell flowers," she told me flatly. I blinked twice in surprise, feeling kinda sheepish, as my mind drew a blank. My rant pretty much went out the window, too.

"Oh."

She seemed to be waiting for more of a response, so I tried to put my scrambled thoughts together.

"Huh. My mistake," I muttered. "Been a long morning, and I thought... Kids should try to enjoy the youth while it lasts, y'know? Not right to want to be a part of this"—I looked up and down the street—"anytime soon."

She nodded quietly, appraising me with her soft green eyes. "You're a Turk." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," I said. "Isn't this the part where you run screaming?"

She smiled like she thought it was a funny joke and extended her hand. "I'm Aerith. You're...?"

I shook it. "Reno." After a bit, I added, "So, flowers, huh?"

"Yep," Aerith said. I looked behind her and finally noticed the rickety wooden cart, filled with pinks and yellows and whites and blues.

"Where do you grow 'em all?"

"At the church, nearby. It's the only place they'll grow at all."

I eyed the cart. Flowers...they weren't something you usually saw in the slums—if at all. It was kinda weird to look at them; they seemed so wrong and out of place against the harsh backdrop of Sector Five.

"Do you want any?"

"...What?" I stared at Aerith, trying to break out of my thoughts. "Want any what?"

She chuckled. "The flowers, silly. I'm selling them, remember?"

"Oh. Right." I shook my head. "No thanks, though. I'm not into flowers and hearts and puppies. Or pink, to tell you the truth."

Aerith laughed softly again at my words. "Right, I guess I can't really see you with roses in your hair either."

I grunted. "Yeah. Well, nice talking to ya, Aerith, but I'd better get going. Turk stuff to do."

Her shoulders tensed a little, but the smile was still genuine. "I understand. It was nice to meet you too, Reno."

I nodded once and turned to go before a thought struck me. I pivoted on my heel.

"Scratch that. You sell white roses?"

Aerith beamed, the smile breaking out wide on her cheeks. "Yeah, actually, I do. They're really hard to grow, but I manage it. What do you have in mind?"

I pulled at the open collar of my shirt nervously. "I was thinking... maybe... a bouquet. For a friend."

I don't think the word "friend" went unnoticed, but she didn't comment on it. She reached into the cart and plucked out a flower with a wide bud that drooped over the sides: a white rose.

"How many? Do you want a bow? And if you do, what color?"

Yuffie would've gotten a kick out of this. "Eleven. And a red bow, I guess."

Aerith nodded and busied herself with pulling the flowers out by their stems and wrapping them in clear green plastic, before she finished the package off nicely with the bow.

"I can add a note, if you want," she told me.

I shook my head. I wasn't a romantic. I couldn't spout flowery speeches about love and forever and all that other shit, and I don't think Yuffie really expected me to. We pretty much already understood each other without talking in the first place anyway.

"Nah. Just put 'Reno' on the card. She'll get the message."

I didn't miss the smile on Aerith's face when I said "she," even as she turned to pull out a small white card from the cart—but I wasn't going to push it. Probably a coincidence, after all.

Aerith latched the card to the flowers and handed them to me. "Here you go, Reno. A bouquet of flowers, for your special lady friend."

Dammit. Yeah, she'd noticed.

I eyed the flowers warily, and realized that I couldn't take them. Not when Rude or any of the others would see 'em and tease me mercilessly about getting soft—I had a damn reputation to uphold. The thought made me muss my hair impulsively.

"Think you could deliver 'em instead? Say"—I checked the watch again—"six hours from now, 'round eleven?"

"Sure..." She said it slowly, a little unsure despite the word.

"I could pay you extra," I added.

"No, no, it's fine. I've just never delivered flowers to anyone's home before. I've never really thought about it. Where do you—?"

I reached for one of the cards and her pen and scrawled my address on it in black ink.

"There," I said. "How much'll it cost me?"

"Two gil."

I rummaged into my pockets for a handful of bills and pushed them into her hands. When she opened her mouth to argue, I said, "It's cool. Just take it." I smiled a little so she'd understand I'd meant it, and she smiled softly back.

"Fine, but only if you let me write up a receipt."

"Don't bother," I said, and waved away her protests lazily.

Receipts were for regrets, for people who weren't sure of the choices they'd made in life, who were willing to go back for a chance to do things different. I didn't believe in that sentimental shit. There were no second chances, and I didn't have any regrets I could think of anyway. A few things I wasn't proud of, but never any regrets. 'Specially when it came to Yuffie.

"Alright," Aerith smiled. "Thank you, Reno. It really was nice meeting you."

"Yeah, yeah." I was already turning to go. "Do me a favor and stay off the streets, Aerith. Isn't safe around here for nice people like you." I didn't hear what her reply was...but I really hoped she'd listen to me.

Rude was still waiting when I hopped back into the car. He gave me another confused look, so I shrugged. "Just a flower girl," I muttered, and he seemed to understand what I'd been so pissed about: teenage prostitutes and kid dealers who were way too fucking young to be working the slums in the first place.

He nodded once, throwing the car into drive, and pulled back onto the black pavement without another comment. It was one of the reasons I was so damn thankful that Rude was my partner; he never asked too many questions.

"To the warehouse," I sighed, and Rude gave me another small bow of his head.

We sped on into the dark.


	2. Entry II: Tha Mobb

A/N: Whoot, update! And though I failed to mention this earlier, I'll be attempting to stick to a monthly update schedule with this fic, for the most part, so...yeah. That.

Also, keep in mind that the Before Crisis Turks were never named. So I improvised.

* * *

Bulletproof Diary

* * *

Entry II.

Tha Mobb.

* * *

The warehouse looked dingy as we it pulled into view. I looked it up and down as Rude and I stepped out of the car.

To be honest, it was crappy. The greying metal panes were rusting in places so that the walls looked like a patchwork of drab and dull brown; a few of the upper windows were shattered, with jagged pieces of glass still hanging in the frames; and the blue-topped, tent-shaped roof looked about ready to collapse. But it was the best we could do in the slums, so I wasn't complaining.

Rude made it to the door before me. He took brisk, hurried steps as I slunk along behind him at a leisurely pace, hands in my pockets. The buzzing lamp posts glowed down on us as Rude fumbled with the padlock on the damn rusty door before the lock clicked and the door creaked open.

The ceiling lamps were off, leaving the place in darkness except for the green glow of the brown crates stacked around the room; they were piled high and glowing, marked boldly with the words 'SHINRA PROPERTY.' I could still see where someone'd crossed out the second word and scribbled 'SUCKS.' Probably Laney, considering how damn happy she always got when we ripped Shinra off and took their most prized possession.

Mako. The Planet's life juice. Bright green, eerie, and just about the most unnatural looking thing you'd ever seen. It was dangerous, it was addictive, and it was pricey.

That's why Shinra was the super giant it was now. They'd gone out of their way to topple anyone who'd been so much as a tiny threat against them; tackled them ruthlessly and crushed them into the ground so that they could plug the Planet full of holes and pipes and metal.

But I wasn't on the 'save the Planet' boat. I couldn't have cared less to be honest. I just didn't like Shinra. No company—hell, no _country_—should've had that much power. But Shinra did. And they'd smash anyone who threatened them to bits to make sure they stayed on top.

Last I heard, Wutai was completely leveled. Barren and empty and desolate from the war and death-bringing missiles that whizzed through the air and burnt villages and families to the ground.

Yeah. Shinra always put mako to good use.

Maybe we weren't better, selling a potent variant of mako as a drug, but we were still popping holes in Shinra's money bucket, still draining their pockets of loot and customers. And it felt good.

Rude's hand on my shoulder brought me back to the present. I turned and glanced at him as he cocked his head to the side door leading out of the storage room and into the main one.

"In there?" I asked, and Rude nodded.

I strolled over to the door, wrapped my fingers around the handle, and flung it open—into burning bright lights. It took a couple of blinks for my eyes to adjust, and by the time they, had Rude was already a few steps ahead of me. Him and those stupid shades.

"Well if it isn't the world's most arrogant, pigheaded jackass. Glad to see you could join us, Reno."

A few suits were sitting at the table in the back; playing cards and smoking, from the looks of it. My eyes wandered and spotted Tseng leaning against a beam in the far corner of the room, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. He was probably plotting another mako-scheme—or sleeping. I couldn't really tell. Rude was already strolling towards him, I guess to make the report of our morning run.

And there was Laney on my right, sitting against a tabletop covered in empty vials and needles and smirking like no tomorrow. I smiled as I walked over.

"Laney," I sighed. "I get that there's a lot of pent up sexual frustration you have for me, but I'm with Yuffie. I'm gonna have to refuse your offer of noncommittal, low-down, hot and dirty sex. Better luck next time."

She let out an irritated sigh and flipped me off; I couldn't help but stick out my tongue and smirk around it. She'd gotten pissed off in only five seconds. I still had it.

"Yeah, right. Like I'd ever offer to do _that_ with someone as cocky and rude and _stupid_ as you."

I snorted.

"Then why're you blushing? I sense that one of us is fibbing. It's perfectly normal, y'know, for people to want what they can't have. Nothin' to be ashamed of."

Laney ground her teeth together as her face flushed.

"The only thing I'd ever want from _you_—"

"Don't. It's too early, you two."

Tseng—I could've sworn he was asleep. Laney'd shut up any time for him. Not that he noticed.

Tseng was...well, Tseng. All business, no play. Ever. One-hundred percent focused on swindling Shinra, taking the profit, and getting us all through the day alive. Uptight, yeah—but a hell of a leader.

I looked back down at Laney's face and saw that she was bright pink with embarrassment. I guess being chided like a five year-old by the guy you were hopelessly in love with did that; it made me feel a little sorry for her. I patted her head.

"Don't worry, Laney. He'll notice you... eventually."

Laney threw me a wary look. "I don't know what you're—"

"Bullshit."

I tousled her head a few more times before I walked away, leaving her a confused clump of messy hair and pink cheeks.

Vincent was perched in a hard wooden chair, calmly polishing his damn gun over and over. I always thought that Vincent was kinda...special. Sorta like Tseng, but more dedicated. Obsessed, even. He was meticulous with being a Turk, took it seriously—like it should've been. But he put more of himself into that gun and its bullets than should've been humanly possible.

If he wasn't staking out, he was polishing his gun. If he wasn't threatening Shinra employees for intel, he was cleaning out the chamber. If he wasn't... wasn't _Turk-ing_, then he was with that damn gun. Like a really obsessive girlfriend that would always come back no matter how many times you sent her away.

But Vincent was Vincent. And a damn good Turk, too. I think his stoic nature was why Tseng always picked him for the torturing and assassinating over me.

"Heya, Vincent."

He paused long enough to look up from behind his bangs and spare me a glance.

His eyes freaked me the hell out. They were that unnatural shade of gold that sorta burned into your head and bore right through you; ripped through your freaking thoughts and screamed '_psychopath_' over and over again like warning bells. And every time I looked into them, I always got the sense that I wasn't really seeing anything at all; only what he wanted me to see. What he wanted anyone to see.

But it was early in the morning. Maybe I was just being paranoid.

"Reno," Vincent grunted out curtly, and he went back to polishing. It was what I expected, anyway. Vincent wasn't much of a talker unless he was threatening to cut someone's throat open and spill their guts like candy.

I stuck my hands back in my pockets, whistled, and moved on.

"Morning, unnaturally androgynous effeminate male lacking any masculinity whatsoever."

"Back atcha, embittered, love-scorned, constantly PMS-ing shrew."

A light chuckle. "Touche."

Knives. Damn, I loved Knives. She was like the sister I never had, only better. Sometimes I thought she and I were the only normal people in the Turks. 'Course, it's not like her name was really Knives. It was something long and complicated that I couldn't pronounce, so I'd settled for 'Knives' and she hadn't complained.

She was sitting cross-legged on a rickety metal chair, fixing me with an inviting stare, so I pulled up a chair beside hers and sat down.

"How've you been, Reno?" She twirled one of her namesakes casually between her fingers before she held it fast and started using it to file her nails. "Yuffie still handing your ass to you?"

I snorted. "That was one time, Knives, one time. And I _let_ her. Are we gonna go through this again?"

She flipped back a lock of her black hair and spared me a smile. "Whatever you say, Reno, whatever you say."

"I really hate it when you do that."

"Do what?" she said innocently, and offered her watery grey eyes to me like a little girl who'd scraped her knee after climbing through the trash heaps in the slums.

"You know what," I countered. "And stop that, dammit."

Knives let out another laugh and punched me in the arm. "I'm glad you're a Turk, Reno. I don't think it'd be anywhere near as fun without you."

Fun. Not the word I would've used to describe being a Turk.

"Same here." Sorta.

Knives was the whole reason the Turks were around. That's how I felt, anyway. She'd been the only one of us to ever see the original Turks in action, to ever know what they really did. She was twelve, she'd told me, when she'd met Verdot, the former leader of the Turks. Twelve and a witness to cold-blooded murder.

She'd seen him drive a bullet or two straight through the skull of two Shinra MPs who'd refused to squeal when the next mako shipment was coming in. Seen him brush the flecks of blood from his crisp suit before he turned and saw her staring at him with wide, startled eyes.

She'd thought he was going to kill her, going to snap her neck like a twig to keep her quiet so he could do his work in peace. But he didn't. He strolled over, calm and cool, and knelt down on one knee to put his hands on her shoulders and look her in the eyes.

"What's your name?" he'd asked her. Her throat'd been too tight with fear for her to answer, so she hadn't said anything. "Fine," Verdot'd said gently. "But can you keep a secret for me, sweetie?"

She'd nodded, still startled and scared out of her freaking mind, and Verdot'd leaned in to whisper in her ear,

"I'm a Turk."

Apparently, she'd paled at that, because Verdot'd chuckled at her reaction.

"Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you."

_Liar_, Knives had told me, was the only thing bouncing around in her head.

"Do you like it in the slums?"

She'd blinked, confused by the sudden change of pace, and shook her head violently.

"Me neither. It isn't a very nice place, is it?" Verdot'd stroked his chin for a while before he spoke again. "I have a daughter named Felicia—she's almost your age now. I don't want her to grow up in the slums either. That's why I did what you just saw. So that I could help my daughter. I want to see her laugh and smile and play, but she can't do that here. Not under the Plate. And that's why this is my job. My life. That's why I'm a Turk."

He'd gripped her shoulders a little tighter, stared into her eyes a little more intently.

"So can you keep a secret for me? Can you promise not to tell? For my daughter?"

Well, it was pretty easy to guess what Knives'd said.

About a year and some after that meeting, she'd told me, she'd found a box outside her door, wrapped with a pale blue ribbon. After that, Verdot and the Turks had disappeared. To freedom, apparently.

And Knives, still filing her nails with Verdot's gift in front of me, had kept that dream alive.

Technically, she'd broken her promise to him, but it'd been nearly four years after the Turks had vanished. So she'd found Tseng, still bitter from the then still-waging war on Wutai, and gotten him to join in. And with Tseng came Elena, Rude, and I. The rest had flocked like chocobos to gysahl greens.

"Hello?" Knives waved her hand back and forth in front of my face. "Anybody in that empty head of yours?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm here."

She blew one of her bangs from the corner of her mouth. "Geez. I hate it when you zone out on me."

"Sorry."

"Yeah, you'd better be."

I stared at the floor for a while and let the silence stretch on, wandering around in my head. Verdot and the Turks... they'd murdered and pilfered enough to escape the drear and gloom of the underside of Midgar's plate. But when was 'enough'? When did we get to stop all the killing, all the blood-spilling? It was for a reason—a good one—but did that make it right?

_And that's why this is my job. My life._

Huh. And what about after? Did we carry on the same? Wasn't Shinra still above the Plate, too? Didn't it still have the whole world sitting in its fucking hands? And what does a Turk do when there isn't a reason to Turk anymore?

I should've asked Cissnei when she was still around. Back before Vincent or any of the other, younger Turks. Cissnei, the only Turk to put the suit in the closet and walk away from it all—the glory, the mako...the blood. Like a little trail smudged on the ground from wherever our soles hit the Planet.

We all wished she would've stayed. That was only natural. There was never any guarantee that a Turk could survive without what made us what we were. But she'd done it. Hadn't made it above the Plate, no; but she hadn't been murdered by bitter enemies either.

And in some ways, we were happy for her, too. We didn't want her to leave, but if she could find a way to make it above the Plate without seeing the green glow burning in her eyes at night, without drenching her hands in more blood...

Well, we'd be happy for her.

Cissnei could do it, if nobody else. But me? Nah. I was a Turk through and through. I didn't care who was at the top of the stairs, I was gonna step up, Shinra be damned. And if I didn't make it, if I never reached the top, then I'd die struggling through the bloody grit and grime—

"You're thinking too much, Reno," Knives sighed, and then she ran a hand over her face. "Whatever's running through your head, trip it."

I ran my tongue over my teeth and smiled thinly. "Can't help it when my thoughts get out of control."

"Then take stoic lessons from Vincent or Tseng."

"Nah, I think I'll pass."

Knives leaned back in her chair and stared up at the flickering lights, the dull gleam reflected in her eyes. "It's worth it, you know." The front of her chair legs lifted off the ground as she said it.

'Course it was. I knew that. If not for my sake, then for Yuffie's. For hers. For Rude's and Tseng's and Laney's and every fucking one of us. Because we had to stick together if we ever had a flaming hope in hell.

"Pfft. You tellin' me, Knives?"

She smiled as her chair legs touched the ground again and rolled her eyes. "Of course. I'm talking to Reno, aren't I? The Greatest Turk Alive?"

"Damn straight. Don't you forget that next time."

"Well, Mr. Greatest Turk Alive," Knives said, and she drew out every syllable to stress the sarcasm, "since you're so great at what you do, why don't you get off your ass and count the wares in the back?"

"I'm not that great—"

"I concur." Tseng, jumping in a conversation that had freaking nothing to do with him. At all. Damn him. "Reno, Rude—get to it."

"Dammit. Sonuva—"

"Reno."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm on it."

My chair creaked under me as I got up; Rude fell into step behind me. I walked back through the open doorway, back into the darkness pulsing with the green.

"I'll take the far side," Rude grunted, and then he shuffled off with a crowbar in hand.

"Sure thing, partner." I reached out to the nearest crate pile and pulled the lid off the one on top. The wood grated as it slid off the catch and exposed the glow. I picked up a vile, swiveled it between my fingers and whistled. "This is quality stuff, Rude. Pure, undiluted, straight-from-the-Planet's-loins mako."

"It hasn't been processed yet, so that would explain the appearance. If anything, it's more powerful than usual."

"Yeah," I agreed, and put the vial down to pick up another. The green liquid was thick, stagnant—nothing like the watered down crap we usually got.

We couldn't sell the mako the way it was; it was too strong, too potent. We couldn't have people running around pumping their veins full of it. The last thing we wanted was a mako epidemic. With convulsing wretches rolling in the streets and half-crazed prostitutes as strong as SOLDIERs... no fucking way. No way in a fiery, Shinra-ruled hell.

So we boiled it.

We diluted it with water and warmed it up until the bubbles frothed over the edges of the pot and then tipped it all back into the vials for selling. That made it less dangerous, less likely to leave someone in a coma. Or dead. Being dead probably wasn't what our customers wanted.

I put the glass tube back in the crate and looked for another. That was all Rude and I did for the next half hour of so: ripping open wooden crates and turning the little bottles of money and green and death over and over in our hands. It was actually a sobering thought. In our hands we held the Planet's life juice; the same thing that'd cost people their lives; the same thing that Shinra was so eager to gets its hands on.

So, in the end, weren't we the same?

"Reno, I'm all done over here. You?" Rude's voice snapped me back to my senses. I shook my head, replaced the vial I'd been holding back in its crate.

"Yeah. Done over here, too."

In the darkness, I could just make out Rude nodding and stuffing his hands into his pants pockets; there was the jingle of keys. "Then we should check out the shipment from this morning's run." He tossed the keys and I caught them lazily as I started for the side door.

The alleyway was still empty, still dimly lit, as we walked back out into the open. The car was still there, untouched. Which was good, because it meant we hadn't been followed. Which would've been bad.

I shoved the key into the lock and popped the trunk open to the familiar, pulsing glow. Rude shuffled to my side and started sifting through the mako. He picked a vial, held it up close to his shades as he examined it, then stroked his goatee with his free hand as he put it back.

"More of the same?" I asked. I hadn't bothered to go through the trouble this time.

Rude nodded. "The same. Potent. It's definitely too strong to sell to anyone as is. We'll have to empty every vial and boil gallons—"

His shoulders stiffened. By the time I heard the soft scrunching of gravel underfoot, Rude had already reached into his pocket; the sound of the safety clicking off rung in the silence.

I tensed and pushed off from my leaning position on the wall.

The steps were louder now, more hurried. I could just make out the small, shallow breaths coming from the end of the alley...

It was a girl. Well, no, a woman, I guess, but along the same lines. She couldn't have been older than twenty-five, give or take. The blue dress that hung limply by the two thin straps on her shoulders looked ruffled and a little tattered. The black hair spilling over the sides of her face and down her back in curls was ragged, unkempt and dirty.

And her eyes. There was something..._off _about her bright, baby-blue eyes. Even from where I was standing, I could see it: the definite glow of them. Not the glow of a SOLDIER, but the dimmer glow of green rings around her pupils, bright and wrong in the set of her pale face.

A mako addict.

I noticed as she stepped closer that she was twitching nervously every now and then, her eyes darting back and forth between me and Rude as she got closer. She kept scratching her arm, the move quick and erratic, and I could tell why: in the crease of her elbow, there was a dark, mottled, purple-colored bruise.

"Are...are you Turks?" Her voice was quiet and timid. She stroked the purple mark on her arm again nervously.

I let out a breath from my lips. "Who wants to know?"

"K-Kasey," she stuttered. From the corner of my eye, I could make out Rude relaxing slightly and pulling his hand from his pocket.

"Kasey, huh?" I said. "You know you aren't supposed to be here, don'tcha? We could kill you right now and no one would know any better."

She paled a bit but didn't flinch. "I-I know," she muttered. "But I need some. _Please_. Just a little green. I can't stand another minute of it. Of all of them watching and touching me..." She shivered.

"The Don," Rude guessed. "I take it you work at the Honeybee's Inn?" Kasey nodded weakly.

That would've explained her appearance. Girls who worked for Don Corneo usually all came home looking ragged. It wasn't like he cared what happened to them; like it mattered if a few girls got slapped around or went missing. As long as he could have more, as long as he was the biggest bully on the playground, nothing else really mattered.

"It probably isn't the greatest job in the world. Working for that fat slob, I mean." I picked at a piece of dirt under my nail. "If I were you, I'd quit."

Kasey tensed a bit, but she shook her head slightly. "I can't do that. I need the money. A-and my daughter—"

"All the more reason to drop out. She'd probably be a lot happier if mommy stopped coming home crying her eyes out with new bruises all the time."

"_Please_," she begged, and she looked to Rude as if he'd be more understanding, more consoling. "Just a little. I...I don't have any money right now but...I _need_ it. I need the joy and I need the high, even if it's only for a few hours. I just... I need it to get through the day without throwing up or crying or thinking about killing myself. I need to escape, even if it's just for a little while."

I snorted. "And then what? Your problems are still gonna be there when you come crashing down. Just as bad. Maybe worse. Do you honestly think that plugging yourself up with mako will make things any better?"

She laughed a little, a short bitter blow that sounded like it'd escaped without her really wanting it to. "Are you j-judging me? Telling me to t-take the moral highroad?"

I smiled like there was a sour taste in my mouth. "Nah. Just offering an opinion where it isn't wanted." I strolled over to the still-open trunk, picked up a vial. Before I could do anything else, Rude's hand closed around my wrist. He was staring at me through the cool black of his shades.

"You can't—" he started in a low voice, but I held up my free hand to shush him.

"Actually, Rude, I _can_. No one sees us, no one knows where we are. You know that." He locked his jaw—probably to argue that it wasn't right—but then his grip on my wrist slackened and he let me go.

I rummaged through the trunk for a while till my fingers closed around what I was looking for: a syringe. It was still new, still wrapped in its shiny plastic. I ripped it out with my teeth.

Kasey's eyes followed my fingers hungrily as I pushed the needle into the tube, as I filled it up with the thick, glowing green. I squirted a little of it out onto the pavement, flicked the needle to let out some of the air. And then I tossed it at her.

The syringe never even hit the ground.

She caught it midair, snatched at it ferally as if someone else was going to get to it first, and cradled it to her chest protectively as she crouched in the dirt. The veil of her tangled hair blocked her face from view, but I could still hear her muttering between shaky breaths.

"Mine. All mine."

She flung her hair back from her face so that I could see that she was already gone. Rude and I weren't there anymore; it was just her and her mako. The ring of green seemed to burn more brightly in her eyes.

She plunged the needle into the mottled purple on her arm, plunged it until it broke skin—and then she was off in her ecstasy, laughing; laughing as the tears ran down her face and as she vomited on the floor.

I looked away.

So, sure, maybe we had something in common with Shinra. But we were _better_; we made people happy. Kasey was proof of that. And it wasn't like we were ruining lives—not when Shinra had screwed them around so badly already.

"How much?" Rude asked me.

"Twenty-two ccs," I sighed. "Just enough so that she won't feel it." He nodded solemnly and didn't say anything else, but I got that feeling that he wished things could've turned out differently.

But hell, I wasn't the one who made him a Turk.

We unloaded the rest of the crates in silence. It was mindless work, hauling the boxes of too-potent, too-dangerous mako from the trunk to the stacks in the warehouse. I'm not exactly sure when it happened, but by the time Rude grabbed the last box, Kasey'd stopped laughing. Had stopped crying. And she wouldn't be doing either ever again.

I should've felt bad for her, should've felt some sorta remorse for the sad broken woman with a little girl who I'd just killed with a mako overdose. But I didn't. It'd taken Benjy before her to settle me back into the feeling of normalcy, of acceptance. I didn't feel any remorse at all about how they'd both had to die.

Besides. I was just doing my job.

"Will you take a look at all the damn splinters in my hands," I sighed tiredly. "Alone time will never be the same." Rude, the big guy, cracked a faint smile.

We turned from the mako crates and slipped back into the main room. The lights were still bright, still flickering, and there was still a thin cloud of smoke in the air.

Knives was leaning back in her chair, eyes closed. Laney was twirling a lock of her hair and staring at her shoes. Vincent was polishing his gun. You would've never guessed that someone had just died; that they'd each probably killed somebody this morning without blinking.

"Report?" Tseng's voice cut into my thoughts again, and I shot him a look as Rude clasped his hands behind his back.

"The mako's no good," I told him. "None of it. Every vial is fresh out of the Planet. Too much of it will either kill the customers or turn them into SOLDIERs."

Tseng frowned. "That's a problem. Boiling that much mako will take time. We'll have to—"

But I never got to hear what we had to do about the mako. I only heard the shrill blare of sirens as morbid dread filled me up and brimmed over.


	3. Entry III: Oh No

A/N: So, pertaining to the aforementioned 'schedule,' I've failed spectacularly. Eh. My AP classes are entirely culpable, I assure you.

* * *

Bulletproof Diary

* * *

Entry III.

Oh No.

* * *

I swallowed long and hard in the echoing silence. Everything was still and tense. Quiet. Except for the slamming of car doors and the pounding of booted feet. Shinra was on our doorstep, guns cocked and loaded, ready to break down the freaking door. The sirens were still loud in my ears, the hoarse shouts like a faint buzz somewhere in the back of my head. I wasn't really hearing any of it.

Something was wrong. No, _all_ of this was. Shinra shouldn't have been able to find us. We didn't put up a billboard; the Turks kept our heads low and our voices quiet when we weren't doing what we did best. There weren't any flashy neon lights or white rabbits with pocket watches or…or…or _any shit like that at all_.

So there was the problem there of how, exactly, the bastards had found us.

I looked at Tseng, whose eyes were narrowed and calculating, his ponytail swishing behind him like a whip as he called everyone to his side, and saw that he was thinking the same thing:

Someone had ratted us out.

"Dammit," I muttered. "I knew we should've changed bases." Tseng gave me a small nod of his head. For once, we were in agreement over something.

Yeah, we were definitely screwed.

"Listen up." Tseng pushed himself off from his perch against the beam and eyed the circle of Turks surrounding him. His eyes flickered over every face, locked gazes with all of them. "As you've probably assessed, we aren't in the best position."

I felt Laney give my arm a squeeze and looked down. Her lips were pale, trembling. I wondered who she feared for more: herself or Tseng.

Tseng kept talking, kept grinding out the empty words like some lifeless machine. He was good at that; he was good at keeping every emotion he had in check, tucked neatly under the mask.

"The Shinra Law Enforcement Department is out there. I won't pretend we can kill them all. From my estimate, we're outnumbered"—he paused, listened to the wailing sirens just outside—"three to one. This isn't a restraining operation; they have every intention to kill us. I don't know how they found us, but—"

"Cut the crap." I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and licked my lips. "Stop pretending, Tseng. We all know why they're here." I turned my eyes on the crowd of them—ten, maybe twelve, at the most—and waited for one of them to flinch.

"Someone in here told 'em where to find us. One of our own is a snitch."

A few of them traded nervous glances, shifted uneasily. "Whoa. Whoa. Wait." One of the taller ones, Garret, I think, held up his burly hands and scratched the gruff on his chin. The tousled brown hair on his head and the cigarette between his lips swayed a little as he shook his head.

"That's crazy talk, Reno. You're saying one of _us_ pointed them here? No one here would ever do that. We want above the Plate, but not with Shinra's help. They're the ones who did this, who screwed up the world. All of us wanna _kill _them."

Garret. He was a good guy, and a hell of a fighter. I'd seen him put those brass knuckles of his to good use. He'd killed a lot of people. So he shouldn't have been so damn stupid and blind.

"Shut up, Garret." I didn't mean for it to come out so harsh, but it did. "You're too old to believe in that whole 'goodness and innocence' bull. Not everyone has a moral code. Not everyone gives a damn about loyalty. Some people'll do whatever it takes to get what they want."

He flinched. "Sorry, Reno," he muttered.

Tseng rubbed at his temples. "Squabbling isn't going to solve anything. Our first priority should be escaping. We'll deal with the rest—"

"So we're going to _run_?" The voice, female, piqued up from somewhere in the back. Its owner pushed her way to the front, shoved everyone else aside. Her copper eyes were squinted, disbelieving, and her shoulder-length grey hair looked a little limp from the hot air. Elle.

"We can't just fucking run, Tseng! This is _our_ stomping ground! We should stay here and fight for it!"

Tseng's eyebrow twitched. "Elle."

"I'm not afraid! I'm no damn coward!"

"Elle."

"And besides—we can't leave all the mako! All our hard work will just be _wasted_. I won't let Shinra take something else from me, I _won't_. I'll kill them all if you're too afraid—"

"_Elle_."

I could see the change in Tseng's posture now. His face was still the same, his voice still even, but his shoulders were tensed. His hands were clasped behind his back—all business. I think Elle noticed it too, because she shut her mouth and threw someone in the crowd a nervous glance.

"We're not staying for your pride, Elle. Shinra has plenty of mako; we can always steal more. But your _lives_ aren't as easily replaceable. I won't allow you to die in vain."

"I never meant—"

"That's exactly what you meant. You want us to stay here, hold out a base that has already been compromised, fighting over mako that we can always get back. You want us to bleed for what we've earned. You want us to die fighting, die heroically. But we aren't heroes, Elle; this isn't a story."

"But I didn't _say_—"

"Why do you want us to stay here, Elle?" Tseng started pacing around her, his eyes narrowed and shrewd. "Do you want us to wait here for Shinra? Wait for them to find and kill us all?"

Elle shook her head frantically. "Of _course_ n—"

"Are you the spy?"

And then she turned as white as a ghost; pale, like someone'd just dug her grave. I guess she had a reason to. Here was Tseng, staring her down intensely, eyes burning like black coals against the white of his skin. Maybe she realized something. Maybe she realized that this was the face Tseng showed to the poor bastards who had to die right before he killed them. Maybe she was remembering that Tseng had come from Wutai, and had seen and done more messed up shit than she could dream of. Maybe she was remembering that Tseng was a man who could bring down the whole damn world around him and burn it to the ground if he wanted to. And he was fixing her with his burning eyes.

Elle wiped the cold sweat from her lips.

"Tseng. _Tseng_. No. Gaia, _no_. You know how loyal I am to the Turks. You know I'd _never_, _ever—_"

"COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP! THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING!"

I sucked my teeth. The bastards. Talking about us like we were common criminals.

Tseng didn't seem to hear it. He was still staring at Elle, eyes boring right into her skull. I don't know what she saw in them, but it must've been pretty bad: she started shaking.

Tseng cocked his head to the side, flashed his eyes over me before they settled on Vincent. I still saw a flicker of whatever he'd shown Elle, but it was fading, sinking back into the cool shady depths of his charade. Vincent nodded at him; he nodded back.

"Rin, Elle—go to the storage room and guard the back door. That will be our way out." He said it without ever looking at them. And then, before Elle could stagger off crazed with fear, he put a hand on her shoulder and told her, "I'm sorry for doubting you. But I had to be sure."

She nodded dully, seemed to relax a little at his words. And then she walked off into the crowd, Rin—squared-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose, jagged scar running down his face—followed. His black sheath was already in his hands.

Running. We were going to run just like the cockroaches they said we were. I didn't like it any better than Tseng did, but I knew we couldn't beat Shinra—not like this. I fumbled in my pocket for the small, measly pistol Benjy had left behind. The metal was cold in my fingers as I turned it over and over. A few shots. That was all it would take to kill one of them—and have five of us killed in the meantime.

The snitch. I'd kill the bastard myself.

"Reno."

Rude clamped a hand on my shoulder. I hadn't been paying attention; nearly everyone else had left. It was just the two of us in that room, and I could already see Vincent's back disappearing through the storage room door. I offered Rude a smile—I wasn't sure how bitter it looked because he pulled his eyebrows together—and followed.

It was funny. We'd spent so long fighting for all this mako stacked in glowing boxes around us, and now we were just going to turn out backs and leave it all behind. I could tell Elle was thinking the same thing; the longing was written all over her face. She bit her lip, looked down. Her knuckles made popping sounds as she cracked them.

"This is it." Tseng was pacing in front of the rusty door, his eyes running over every face in the crowd. "From here, we'll scatter into individual pairs and keep low for the next few days until Shinra gives up the chase. I'll contact you when the time's right so that we can rendezvous." He narrowed his gaze a bit, like it would help point out which one of us was the snitch. "Until then, stay wary of your partners. Now move out."

And then he turned and pushed the door open, Laney gripping her handgun tightly right beside him. The hinges creaked, the stank air ruffled a few hairs; the smell of rust and metal filled my nose—and just like that, they were gone, off into the shadows of the slums.

Garret and Elle were next. Everyone filed out the door after that, slipping out into the back alley as quickly as they could. Somewhere in the crowd, I saw Knives wave at me, throw me a confident smile. I wonder if the one I gave her back looked as nice.

Vincent's steps seemed louder, somehow, as he walked toward the door, and the air around Rude felt heavier. Because this was real; this was everything we'd fought and killed and bled and died for, and just like every-fucking-thing else, Shinra was gonna take it—

Rude tensed. Before I could even figure out what the hell was happening, he tackled me to the ground and sent me flying across the floor to the far wall of the room, Vincent shouting something as Rude flung him along—the glass windows were shattering over their heads.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think I put it all together: the lights blazing outside, the shouts, the broken bits of glass raining down on us like sparkling rain. Somewhere in my head, I put two and two together:

A crowd of guns was blazing.

"Shit, shit, _shit_." It seemed like the perfect thing to say when there was bloody glass under your fingernails and a big bald guy on top of you. "Rude, get _off_ of me. Don't you hear that?" I tried to shove him, but he wouldn't budge. "You bald bastard, get the _fuck—_"

Screaming. Laney was screaming.

"RUDE!" I slammed Benjy's pistol into his side and he let out a grunt of pain as I pushed him off of me. I didn't know what the hell was wrong with Vincent—the idiot was just staring off into space, like he couldn't believe it, or like he was waiting for something else to prove that it was all real.

Rude grabbed my sleeve and pulled me back down. The glass crunched under my shoes as I tried to kick him off. "What're you doing, Rude? That's Laney out there! Laney's screaming her heart out and you're just gonna let her fucking _die_? I'll kill you, I'll kill you myself if you're the rat who—"

Someone pulled a trigger. Laney stopped screaming.

"You...you _bastard_." My feet gave out under me as Rude yanked me back to the ground and kept me there. "You let her die. She was like a little sister to us and you just let her _die—_"

"I didn't," Rude panted. His lip was swelling, and a thin trickle of blood was running down his forehead. "I didn't," he huffed again. "I didn't let her die, Reno. You heard the shooting out there. Shinra was waiting for us. The snitch...They already knew...You wouldn't have been able to stop them—"

"I don't fucking care!" But I did. Rude had just saved my life. He'd stopped me from walking out into a hail of gunfire. But I was still angry—still heartbroken. Because what about Laney? What about Tseng and Knives and Garret and Elle? What about the others? What couldn't he have saved them, too?

I wiped the blood from my lips. I was still angry, and if I couldn't be mad at Rude I'd take it out on someone else. And Vincent was still just sitting against the wall—blood running from his hair and down his cheeks—dazed. "And you, Vincent. What the fuck? Why didn't you do something? Why didn't you—?"

_Bang_.

That's what I heard when the bullets smashed into the door and blew it open. But I wasn't surprised by who walked in; the five guns pointed in our faces and the visors reading 'SHINRA' weren't a surprise at all.

"Looks like the vermin have found themselves cornered."

I heard the drawling voice as the man stepped out from behind his wall of thugs and into the flickering lights. He was dressed in a posh white suit, hands folded behind his back, as he surveyed the scene with gloating blue eyes. He flipped back a lock of his blond hair and smirked.

"Rufus Shinra." I heard Rude's grunt from beside me.

"Very good," Rufus taunted. "I didn't know Plate scum could form coherent sentences."

"I didn't know illegitimate bastard children had enough brain cells to run a company intent on draining the Planet dry and killing us all." Rude shrugged. "You learn something new every day."

Rufus smiled, but it wasn't friendly at all. "What a refreshing sense of humor." He cocked his head toward one of his guards. "Ross?"

"Sir." It was a lot faster than I thought it'd be. Too fast. The guard stepped forward, kept his barrel trained on us—and then he smashed the butt of his gun into Rude's head.

"You _fucking_—"

"Please." Rufus held up a hand, like he was bored. "I hardly want an exchange of unpleasantries."

Rude was cradling his head with his hand, smearing the blood against his gloved fingers. The leather of his gloves creaked as he clenched and unclenched his free hand. "You...you won't get away with this."

Rufus laughed, a cruel sound that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. "Won't get away with it? There isn't anyone who could stop me. There isn't a single entity on this planet strong enough to challenge Shinra, least of all _here_, in the slums. Your allies have proved that, I think."

My nostrils flared. "Shut your fucking mouth." I clenched my hand, realized Benjy's pistol was still in my cold, clammy fingers. If I could just distract him, just keep him talking... "We'll kill you ourselves."

"Our SOLDIERs would tear you apart." Rufus was still smiling, but he let some of the cold menace slip into his voice when he said it. "Genesis Rhapsodos laid siege to the Nibelheim battlements and razed the town to ashes in a matter of days. Angeal Hewley performed the smooth coup d'etat that put Junon under Shinra's control. And Sephiroth?"

I almost smiled. Perfect, I thought. The rambling villain who never knew when to shut up in time to kill the hero before he could break free—but I wasn't the hero, was I? If it were anyone else's story, I'd probably be the villain, too.

Rufus kept talking. "When all his men were dead, when there was no chance for reinforcements, General Sephiroth stormed every Wutain citadel—and he slaughtered every single warrior. A war ended on the point of his sword. He speared Godo Kisaragi _through the heart_."

I almost bit my tongue off at that. "Kisaragi?"

Crinkles formed under Rufus's eyes like he was remembering something that warmed his heart. "Yes, scum, Kisaragi. He slaughtered the entire defiant clan. We never found the body of the princess, Yuffie Kisaragi. I can only imagine what he must have done to her."

So, that's when I lost it.

My arm whipped around, trained right on Rufus's face, my finger bloody on the trigger. But I never got to pull it. Ross was quicker.

He knocked my hand out of the way so that the pistol went flying, stomped right on my wrist until I heard the crack and felt the burn tear up my arm: he'd snapped my wrist clean in two.

Rufus laughed again. "You poor bastard. You honestly believed..." He shook his head disbelievingly. And then he turned his head to stare at Vincent like he was just noticing him for the first time.

"Vincent." Rufus curled his finger in Vincent's direction. The familiarity was almost enough to shake me out of my pain. The blond smiled again as he picked up Benjy's gun—and handed it to Vincent.

"Kill them," Rufus said. "I want you to kill them."

I didn't understand. He was telling Vincent to kill his own men. Why would he want that? Why would—

Rude swore.

"_Vincent_." He spat out the name like it had a nasty taste to it. "Of all the people it could have been, you're the one. You turned us over to Shinra."

Vincent. And Shinra. Together?

No. No, Vincent _hated_ Shinra. Almost more than any of us. I'd seen it in his eyes more times than I could count. He'd always had that look burning in them, was always like a man on fire. He hated the life Shinra had given him.

But he still got up. He still brushed the glass from his suit, still wiped the blood from his face. He still took the gun and smiled faintly at us.

"_Y-you_?" I almost choked on the word. "You can't be serious. You _hate_ Shinra. You hate—"

"I hate them for what they've done, yes. But I hate this life more. And I'm not above helping them if I can leave this damned place behind."

Rude spat the blood from his mouth right on Vincent's shoe. "You're not above being a coward either. Running. That's what you're doing."

Vincent didn't deny it. Didn't shake his head or blink or anything. But his grip on the gun tightened. And then he pointed it right in Rude's face and pulled the trigger.

I felt something warm and sticky splash against the side of my face. The shock kept me from realizing what it was, or from registering the sound of Rude's shades clattering to the ground. But when the warm wetness trickled into my mouth, I realized it was blood. _Rude's_ blood.

I turned my head, slowly, trying to convince myself that I wouldn't see what I thought I would. But I was kidding myself.

Rude was slumped over in a puddle of his own blood.

Vincent...Vincent _shot Rude_.

"The other one, Mr. Valentine," Rufus said. "The other one."

The other one. I was the other one. The thought of that made my blood race, made my heart pump faster and harder as it struggled to keep me alive. And it made me angry.

"What the _hell_, Vincent! _Shinra_? You're turning your back on the Turks for _Shinra_? _What the hell are you doing_?"

There was a metallic clicking sound as Vincent casually reloaded his gun; casually started pacing around me in a wide circle as he prepared to kill, his eyes shining with that familiar cold sheen.

"I'm doing what we've both been doing for years, Reno: following the Turk code. _Whatever's necessary to get above the Plate_." A smile quirked the corners of his mouth before he added, "And there's someone waiting to see me."

"That logic's bullshit and you know it," I snarled.

"Is it?" he chided; the tone of his voice implied that I was the idiot of the conversation who needed everything explained in exact detail. "Is what I'm doing now so different from what the Turks have been doing for years? End one life to improve your own? In the end, it's the same. We're the same."

"Don't compare me to shit like you. I'll snap your neck."

Vincent smiled wryly. "Still a ruffian."

"Still a bastard."

"And as much as I'd love to see the end of this little melodrama, it's getting rather repetitive." The condescending drawl came from Rufus, still relaxing behind his wall of thugs and cronies as he waited for someone else to do his dirty work for him, just like the coward he was. "I say it's high time you drop the curtain, Mr. Valentine."

Vincent nodded. "I agree, Mr. President."

"Bootlicker," I muttered.

Vincent crouched down, his eyes boring into mine as he pushed the gun against my chest, right where I felt my heart beating wildly.

"If it's any consolation," he said, in that stupid gravelly voice just below a whisper, "they don't know about Yuffie. Not yet."

"You son of a—!"

Blood.

There was blood in my mouth. Blood, on my hands. Blood, blossoming on the white of my shirt and staining it red. There was blood everywhere. And the world. The world was falling on its side. Everything was wrong. So damn..._wrong_.

"Very good, Mr. Valentine." Rufus. "Very good indeed. I'm sure Ms. Crescent will be overjoyed to welcome you to the world above. The real world. And you imbeciles"—there was a shuffling of feet and a clinking of metal—"take this mako. All of it. It's stolen property that rightfully belongs to _me_ and the last thing I want is..."

I tuned out the rest in favor for the sound of rushing blood. I didn't need—didn't want—to hear cold-blooded murderers pilfer and loot us of all that we'd fought to build. Died to build.

I don't know how long I lay there on the floor, feeling my joints stiffen and my lips go cold, but somewhere in between Rufus and his cronies walked out, crates of mako in hand. And really, there wasn't anything I could do to stop them. I was too busy bleeding my heart out on the floor.

When the sound of their engines fading reached my ears, I clenched my teeth and crawled over to Rude.

"Rude?" I shook him. "C-c'mon you big lug. Get off your l-lazy ass."

He stayed in his little corner, crumpled up and defeated like a paper ball. I flinched a little at the sharp pain over my heart as I pulled myself closer to force him to look me in the eyes, force him to acknowledge that he was still alive and well. But Rude's eyes were cold, empty...dead. Rude was...

"...Shit."

I felt around on the ground, searching until my fingers scrabbled over the shades. I fumbled with them a little, my fingers still shaking, before I managed to shove them up the bridge of Rude's nose and onto his face.

It wouldn't have been... I just didn't think it would've been right to let him go without them. And I think he approved, too. His lips, red from the blood that'd trickled from between his teeth, were twisted in a lopsided smile.

So that's how he went.

Rude, who was probably the kindest and most sensitive guy I'd ever known, was lifting slowly out of my arms. Rude, who'd saved my ass more times than I could count, was glowing green all over. Rude, the best partner I could've ever asked for, was breaking off into tiny little lights right in front of my eyes.

Rude, my best friend since ever and forever and ever, was gone.

I tried to wrap my mind around that, but it didn't make any sense to me. Rude... couldn't die. Not after all the shit we'd been through. He just wasn't capable of it. It just wasn't something he could do. So he wasn't dead. None of them were.

That's the lie I tried to sell to myself. But I don't know who I was kidding. No matter how bad I wished it was true, it wasn't. It was something the air in my hands, still heavy and tingling and warm from where Rude had been just a few moments ago, told me bluntly.

They were gone. All gone.

My eyelids drooped a little—from exhaustion or nausea or the steady flow of blood shooting out of me, I don't know—and that was when I remembered the dull ache in my chest; the one I'd mistaken for heartbreak. And the fact that I was dying, too.

The Turks, the Sector Five slums' most influential mako trafficking cartel... was done. All because of a rat named Vincent Valentine. There was no one to stop him, no one to take revenge. No Tseng. No Rude. No Laney, no Knives....No one. There wasn't a single Turk left who could do a damn thi—

Except there was. Someone who Shinra or Vincent wouldn't know about. If I could hold on to consciousness... if I could keep breathing long enough...

I dug a blood-caked hand into my pocket, flipped open my phone, and dialed the number.

"Hey, Cissnei? Yeah, it's me. Listen. I need your help."


End file.
